


In and out of the closet

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabella wants to come out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In and out of the closet

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a conversation I had with Tay about why depicting Isa as straight in fics is so rare. Not that I am depicting her as straight in this. It just got me thinking I guess, and this came out. Enjoy xxx

She’s done it again and she hates herself when she does it. She’s just gone and posted another unnecessary tweet about an actor or another and how he supposedly _does things_ to her. She finds herself doing this more and more, recently, in a desperate attempt to reaffirm that everything is fine. She’s still the same Isabella as usual. She makes music and she bleaches her hair and she massacres her own feet with stilettos and everything is _fine_.

It’s not fine.

She just doesn’t find guys interesting anymore. She’s been wondering and pondering about what it’d be like to date a girl, to connect with someone in a different way, to have more of a shared background. To get into bed with someone with smooth, soft skin; to receive kisses that don’t prickle; to not feel like she’s got something to _prove_ all the fucking time.

People know that she’s fooled around with girls. Hell, there are pictures. But she can always blame that on the drink. If Florence can, then why not she?

Then again, Florence has _stardom_. She’s allowed to be “quirky”, plus she’s always been that way ever since they’ve known each other. Flo finds people attractive and just goes with it. She doesn’t really stop and think about the implications, which is great. Isa, on the other hand, has always been known for hook-ups with random guys and for never keeping a boyfriend for more than a few months. People would look at her differently if she suddenly expressed a wish for intimacy and domesticity.

Nowadays, she notices girls more and more. At parties, she has only recently admitted to herself that it’s not the cool heels or the kicky clothes she likes to look at: it’s the way a girl’s hair tumbles down her shoulders, it’s the way they smile and blush and move and smell. She has stood in a corner with a beer in hand whilst mentally undressing the most attractive girl in the room. She has acted completely unfazed and sipped her drink as her fantasy continued with her taking the girl up to a bedroom and taking her clothes off and then kissing and biting and licking every inch of skin at her disposal.

But she’s always lacked the courage between thought and action.

Chris laughs at something in the movie and brings her back to reality. She forces herself to turn to him and offer an amused smile. It’s just coming up dawn outside the tour bus windows.

If she could be anywhere, it would be a club full of people where she can just dance and hide in a crowd. Not in a relatively small space with close friends who know almost everything about her, _almost_ everything, and who would be disappointed to find out she’s been lying.

Well, not lying, really. Just… avoiding to mention something for so long, that now they’d get mad at her for not telling them sooner.

Yes, she’s snogged a couple of girls in public, gone further once or twice – Florence has, too, she’s pretty sure. And yet, to say _this is actually what I want to do in the long term_ , is far too daunting and fills her with fear of rejection. It’s not like any of them choose their friends based on their sexual orientation (does _anyone_ , really?) but she just envisions awkward situations: getting changed in tiny dressing rooms that she shares with backing vocalists and string players who will give her funny looks, while the boys suddenly become unable to see her as her own person, and fantasise about watching her fuck another girl.

She sends another tweet reiterating her attraction to a male character or another, and puts her phone away. Then she asks Chris if they can at least go get a drink as soon as they’re back inside the M25.

=

She decides to tell Florence the next day. It seems like the natural place to start: her best friend and the least judgmental person she knows. She has to gulp down half a bottle of red wine before finding the courage to say, “Flo, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” Florence responds sweetly. Isa wishes she could see her face clearly, but her thick, red fringe is obscuring her eyes.

Isa sets down her plastic cup, and busies herself staring at the tartan pattern on their picnic blanket. In one swift breath, she blurts out, “I think I might be gay.”

Florence turns toward her sharply, and Isa finds herself thinking her eyes almost look brown. Perhaps it’s a reflection from her dress, she always wears oranges and browns. “How long have you known this?” Florence asks.

Isa has to muster up all her strength to confess, “Coming up to a year.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to keep from your best friend for a _year_ , Isabella.” Flo’s voice has suddenly grown colder, and her lips are set into a frown. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t know if it would change your opinion of me, Flo.” Isa pleads.

“You keeping things from me does.” Flo’s beautiful features have turned into a snarl and she doesn’t look like herself anymore. She stands up, towering over Isa. The wind seems to rise with her, and blows through her hair and her dress as she turns around and walks away from Isabella.

“Please, Flo, don’t go… please!” Isa only realises she’s crying when a teardrop falls on her knee. She’s too petrified to even move, let alone run after Florence.

Flo turns back briefly, just to shout, “I can’t even _look_ at you!”

Isa reaches out to grab a handful of Florence’s chiffon dress: it finally sinks in that something is wrong, and that Flo doesn’t seem to have moved any further away even though she was definitely walking; her eyes still look brown instead of green, and then Isa wakes up with a gasp.

=

She opens her eyes only to find near darkness, and doesn’t need to ask herself where she is, because Florence is sleeping right next to her, facing her.

She doesn’t know how she got here – Flo wasn’t even on their same bus coming back from their gig – but it is extremely reassuring to have arms wrapped around her. Isa isn’t quite used to being protected and she can’t remember the last time someone held her this way. The last time she held someone, sure: she spoons Florence in her sleep all the time. But _she_ doesn’t let herself be fragile, much. She feels it, all the time, but she knows she does a good job at pretending.

Florence’s lips are slightly parted, and Isa can feel her breath on the top of her head. She touches her fingertips to Flo’s cheek briefly: it’s boiling hot. Used to turbulent sleep, Flo awakes at the contact.

“Are you ok?” she mumbles, slurring her words.

“No.” Isa answers, truthfully.

“Let’s talk tomorrow morning please? I’m knackered.” Florence slurs still, just barely louder than a whisper.

Isa doesn’t really want to talk anyway. It must be 4 in the morning and she wouldn’t even know where to start. But she does need one thing: a bit of physical comfort.

“I just want you to hold me… if that’s alright.” She feels really small – well, she _is_ really small – and with a bit of luck, Florence won’t remember this request tomorrow, or remember that Isa had anything to talk about in the first place.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Florence murmurs, a little more awake. “Hold out until morning, Isa.”

Isa buries her face in Flo’s chest and prays for no more nightmares.

=

The next morning, Florence isn’t in the bedroom when Isa wakes up. She sits up on the mattress – she positively hates Flo’s sleeping arrangements, but she chose to come here. She knew she would be welcomed. Florence didn’t like sleeping alone, so she wouldn’t bat an eyelid at Isa’s presence, as long as it resulted in them holding each other through the night.

As far back as Isa can remember, she’s never made it a whole night in someone’s arms before. If four hours’ sleep even count as a “night”.

She looks down at her wrinkly clothes, trying and failing to make them look a little neater, and then makes her way downstairs: she knows her way around like this is her house. There is no one else home, besides Florence in the kitchen. She finds her sitting on a chair, hugging her knees with an arm and holding a book in the other. It looks anything but comfortable. A steaming teapot sits in the middle of the table.

“Want some toast?” Florence asks, looking up from her reading.

“I can make it myself. Don’t get up,” Isa responds, brushing Flo’s shoulder with her hand as she makes her way to the cupboard.

“I need to start keeping some clothes here, you know. I stink.” She says, slamming the bread in the toaster.

“You can borrow some of Grace’s, she won’t mind,” Florence suggests.

“So, care to tell me how I got here last night?” Isa leans back against the counter and crosses her legs.

“Chris dropped you off. You got weepy drunk and asked to be taken here.” Flo adds with a knowing smile.

The words sting a little, making Isabella irritated and uncomfortable.

“No. That’s impossible. I don’t _get_ weepy drunk.”

“You tried to explain what was going on, but you didn’t make too much sense. But a friend in need… and all,” Florence gives a mock-eyeroll at the thought it’s been anything but a pleasure to take care of Isa.

When Isa doesn’t chuckle or even smile, Florence starts getting worried. Her book is quickly forgotten and left on the table as she gets up and makes her way over to Isa. Standing in front of her, she waits for Isa to fall into her arms, but it doesn’t happen.

Isabella hates making drama. And being the centre of attention is only acceptable when people are admired or amused at her antics. Baring her soul is not the _good_ kind of being centre of attention.

The toaster pops. Florence decides she’ll go and get the butter herself since she’s not getting any cuddles.

“I like girls.” Isa’s voice breaks, as soon as Flo turns her back to her; those three measly words requiring a huge effort.

“Pardon?” The fridge is buzzing quite loudly; Florence isn’t sure she’s heard that right.

Isa actually looks up then – just enough to meet Florence’s gaze. But at the last minute, she can’t sustain it, and her eyes go back to her feet as she repeats, “I like girls.”

“Are you being serious?” Florence just chucks the butter onto the countertop and moves back in front of Isa, who squirms a little and nods, eyes still trained on the floor.

“And that is a problem _why_?” Flo’s tone picks up a little in pitch. She gets enthusiastic over nothing: this is no exception.

“I had this horrible nightmare,” Isa explains in her soft, sweet voice, “you walked away from me when I told you.”

“Oh, Isa…” Florence shakes her head and envelops her into a hug. Isabella covers her face with her hands and stifles a sob. She doesn’t know what is reality and what isn’t anymore. What if this is another dream? Just another possible outcome? Putting her arms around Florence, she sneakily pinches herself behind Flo’s back. Nope. She’s awake.

“You know I would never do that, right?” Florence asks. She knows that sometimes, silence will make people more willing to talk, so she pulls away nonchalantly and retrieves what she needs to butter Isabella’s now-lukewarm toast. She waits, and she waits.

True to form, Isa speaks. “I’ve been feeling like this for months… more, maybe. I never had the guts to tell you, or anyone else, because I thought it’d weird you out, you know, after knowing me for so long.”

Florence offers her the pieces of toast on a plate, and she takes a bite, still leaning on the counter in the exact same position as she’s been for the past 10 minutes.

“I wouldn’t even care if you shagged _sheep_ , to be honest,” Flo laughs, “you’re my Isa, and I love you. And I hate to think of you coping with this by yourself.”

“Yeah, I feel kinda stupid now.” Isa uncrosses her legs and reaches behind her for a mug from the dish-drainer. “I mean, I know it’s London and all but… you’ve known me as liking guys for the first 30 years of my life. I thought you wouldn’t believe me. Or tell me I’d gone mad.”

Flo pours her some tea and smiles. “You’re mad regardless, Isabella.”

Isa looks up sheepishly, but Florence shuffles away to get her some milk as well and continues talking.

“You don’t have to tell the guys anything, you know. You can just wait until you find someone. You _know_ they’ll be ok with it. Or you know, don’t even do that. Just walk into rehearsal hand in hand with a girl and they’ll get it.”

With that, Isa’s tea is ready and she takes her first sip, slowly, just in case it’s still too hot.

“You seem so sure I’ll find someone,” she says, pensively.

“Isa, you’re the coolest person I know. Everybody wants a piece of you. Those who don’t are mad, or lying, or both.” Florence gives her a little wink. A question forms at the back of Isabella’s mind, but it’s not one that she is willing, or ready, to voice just yet. _Every_ body?

“I still think I should tell the guys,” is what Isa says instead. “We always tell each other everything in the band, don’t we?”

Florence makes an odd sound, a bit of an unconvinced “ehhh”. She stations herself right next to Isa, so their legs are touching and, in between biting her cuticles, confesses, “I’ve got my secrets, you know.”

“Such _as_?” Isabella presses, looking up at Florence. The question was begging to be asked; you don’t just _say_ something like that and then expect the other person to drop it – Florence is clearly getting at something here.

Florence takes a moment to respond: she suddenly looks nervous and vulnerable. Taking her fingers out of her mouth, she grabs the top of Isa’s mug, but Isa doesn’t let go. Flo guides her arm to the countertop and forces Isa to put the mug down, then as she retracts her arm, she runs her fingers along the inside of Isabella’s forearm, which makes her shiver slightly, either out of ticklishness or uncomfortableness.

Isabella’s still looking at Flo’s fingers on her arm when Flo turns around to face her and leans down, capturing her lips in a kiss.

She _does_ let go of the mug then.

Her hand travels up to Florence’s cheek while the other plants itself on Flo’s waist and pulls her closer. They don’t kiss for long, but they still take the time to discover what the other tastes like.

Isa pulls away first, with a quizzical look. The butterflies in her stomach are a pleasant sensation, but she’s still confused as fuck.

Florence bites her bottom lip wistfully as she says, “Kept _that_ one quiet, didn’t I.”


End file.
